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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

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MATCH MADE IN HELL PT1 | MV1

an: i am slowly finally finishing off all my requests and this was one of them, i had so much fun and my dear friend loved reading this so i hope i did justice to the request. anyway max hmu x

wc: 2.2k

part two | part three

THE CHAMPAGNE WAS STILL STICKY when she found out.

She had spent the past hour celebrating—laughing, grinning until her cheeks ached, drinking in the sight of thousands of fans chanting her name. World Champion. The first female Formula 1 World Champion. The words tasted sweeter than the bubbly that had been poured over her head on the podium.

And then it all shattered.

She hadn’t even been looking for it. Her phone had been left abandoned in the motorhome while she basked in the euphoria of her win. It was only when she returned, still buzzing from the adrenaline, that she saw the messages. A handful of texts from a friend, a link, and a simple message that made her stomach turn cold.

I’m so sorry. You deserve better.

Curious, still lightheaded with joy, she clicked the link.

And there it was. Photos. A grainy shot of Nathan at a club in Monaco three months ago, another in Dubai during the summer break, then one just last week in Austin. Always with the same woman. A brunette with legs for days and a familiar smirk. Someone from the team, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Her throat closed up, fingers trembling as she scrolled, every image a knife to the gut. It wasn’t just a drunken mistake. It was calculated. Repeated. Lied about.

Nathan fucking Donovan. Her teammate. Her fiancé. The man she had trusted with her heart, her career, her future.

The sound of the paddock outside was muffled, drowned out by the rushing in her ears as she dropped her phone. For years, she had turned down every offer from Red Bull. They had been calling since her first podium, since her first win. They had wanted her, but she had always said no. Because of Nathan. Because she had wanted to win with him. Because they were a team, a partnership, a power couple.

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

She had been a fool.

By the time she lifted her head, the decision was made. She wiped her damp hands on her race suit and reached for her phone. The Mercedes crest on her chest suddenly felt suffocating, like a brand that no longer belonged to her.

Her fingers moved with a steadiness that surprised her as she typed out a message to her agent.

Call Red Bull. I’m ready to talk.

That was six months ago.

Now, she had her foot down on full throttle, fighting her teammate.

The roar of the Red Bull RB20’s engine vibrated through her bones as she flicked the car into the corner, tyres screaming as they clung to the edge of grip. Ahead of her, her teammate—Max Verstappen, two-time world champion and an arrogant bastard on his best days—held position, defending like his life depended on it.

It had been like this all season. A relentless, brutal fight for the title. They had the fastest car on the grid, Red Bull’s latest engineering marvel, but they weren’t teammates in any real sense of the word. No teamwork. No cooperation. Just war.

And she was winning.

Six months ago, she'd walked out of Mercedes with her head held high, ringless finger curled into a fist. The world had lost its mind. The media had spun its stories, her ex-fiancé—Nathan Donovan, lying, cheating, spineless piece of shit—had played the heartbroken victim, and the fans had taken sides. But she hadn’t cared then, and she didn’t care now.

Let them talk.

She’d spent years at Mercedes, loyal to a fault, standing by Nathan’s side because she’d thought they were a team, on and off the track. And he’d thrown it away. Lied to her face. Made a fool of her.

So, she’d made sure to humiliate him in return.

Signing with Red Bull had been the first strike. The second had been selling the place they lived in, after all it was in her name - not her problem that he had nowhere to live for two months.

Now, the third was coming—because with two races left in the season, she was leading the championship. And Nathan? A non-factor.

The thought made her press harder on the throttle. The car twitched under her, skimming the edge of disaster, but she held it steady. She was close. A tenth behind Verstappen, closing fast.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” her race engineer crackled through the radio.

She smirked.

Too late.

The gap was nothing now. Less than a tenth.

She was right on Max’s gearbox, weaving slightly in his mirrors, making sure he knew she was there. The car felt alive beneath her, the Red Bull’s aerodynamics biting into the tarmac, begging to be unleashed.

Final lap. Final sector.

Max was still defending, but she could see the cracks. He was too focused on keeping her behind, positioning his car to block, reacting rather than attacking. And that was his mistake.

She took the wider line into the penultimate corner, knowing he’d cover the inside. Then, in a move that was either genius or madness, she lifted off ever so slightly, making him think he’d done enough—before throwing everything into the exit.

Tyres screamed, her car twitched—then hooked. She got the drive she needed, rocketing past him just before the final turn.

Too late for him to do anything.

The chequered flag waved. She crossed the line first.

“YES!” Her own voice rang through the radio, pure adrenaline and triumph. “Fucking get in!”

Her engineer was shouting in her ear, the Red Bull garage was on their feet, and somewhere, she knew, Nathan was watching. Watching as she won. Watching as she proved, once again, that she was better than him.

The thought made the victory even sweeter.

She pulled up into parc fermé, hands shaking with the aftershock of adrenaline as she switched off the car. A second later, Max’s Red Bull rolled in beside her, stopping with just enough aggression to make his frustration clear.

She smirked.

Helmet still on, she climbed out, raising a fist to the cheering crowd before stepping onto the scales. Cameras flashed, capturing every second. She could already imagine the headlines.

She turned just as Max yanked off his helmet, dark blonde hair a mess, jaw clenched. He took one look at her, exhaled sharply through his nose, then muttered, “Fucking hell.”

She grinned. “That’s what you get for leaving the door open.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was not a door. That was a crack in the wall.”

She shrugged. “Still got through, didn’t I?”

Max let out a sharp breath, shaking his head, but there was something else in his expression. Not just frustration. Something almost… impressed.

He wouldn’t admit it. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But she could see it, clear as day.

And the best part?

No matter how much of an arse he could be, she knew one thing for certain: he hated Nathan as much as she did.

banner-

The post-race press conference was the usual mix of adrenaline, exhaustion, and barely concealed hostility.

She sat in the middle, winner’s seat, hands wrapped around a bottle of water, pretending to listen as the moderator rattled off formalities. Max was to her left, arms crossed, jaw still set in frustration. Charles—third place finisher—was on her right, mostly just happy to be there.

The first few questions were routine. Race strategy, tyre management, overtaking opportunities. She answered smoothly, flashing the occasional smirk at Max whenever someone mentioned her overtake. Each time, his jaw tightened just a little more.

Then, inevitably, someone brought up Nathan.

A journalist from one of the more sensationalist outlets leaned forward, microphone in hand, voice dripping with feigned innocence.

“Amazing drive today, congratulations. Obviously, this is a huge result in the championship fight, but I have to ask—do you think your performance this season has been motivated at all by… personal matters? Specifically, your past relationship with Nathan Carter?”

The air in the room shifted.

She had heard a lot of bullshit in these pressers, but this? This was almost impressive in how blatant it was.

She opened her mouth, already crafting the sharpest, most dismissive response possible—

But Max got there first.

He leaned forward, elbow on the table, voice dripping with casual disdain.

“Yeah, mate, I’m sure she’s leading the championship because of her ex. Not because she’s fucking fast or anything.” He raised a brow. “You want to ask me if my performance is motivated by my tragic breakup in 2022? Or is this just reserved for women?”

Silence.

The journalist blinked, momentarily stunned. Then stammered, “I—I was just—”

Max tilted his head. “Just what?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting back a smirk.

The moderator swiftly cut in, moving things along, but the damage was done. The clip would be everywhere within the hour, and Max knew it. He settled back in his chair, arms crossed once again, looking completely unbothered.

She glanced at him, just briefly.

Still not friends. But maybe, just maybe, a little less like enemies.

After the press conference, she barely made it two steps out the door before Max fell into step beside her.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, casually twisting the cap off his water bottle.

She snorted. “For what?”

He gave her a pointed look. “For shutting down that absolute cunt before you could say something that’d get you fined.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Clearly.” He took a sip of water. “But I like watching them.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. She wasn’t about to admit it, but watching that journalist’s face crumble had been the highlight of her day—besides the win, obviously. And Max had delivered it with all the effortless arrogance of a man who lived to piss people off.

They reached their driver rooms, the doors right next to each other. She pushed hers open, stepping into the quiet, adrenaline still thrumming in her veins. Her suit was damp with sweat, her body still buzzing from the intensity of the race, but it was a good feeling. A victorious one.

She had just pulled her race suit down to her waist, reaching for a towel, when she heard a door open behind her.

Not hers.

Max’s, probably—except the footsteps that followed weren’t his.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the room.

“Well done. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Her entire body went rigid.

She turned.

Nathan stood in the doorway, arms crossed, face carefully neutral—but his eyes gave him away. Cold. Calculating.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “What the fuck do you want?”

Nathan stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “You need to cut the shit.”

She laughed, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, mate.”

His jaw tightened. “The comments. The narrative you’re letting people run with. It’s damaging my reputation.”

“Your reputation?” She arched a brow. “Pretty sure you did that yourself when you stuck your dick where it didn’t belong.”

His expression flickered, just for a second, before the mask slipped back into place.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “I have lawyers. You keep dragging my name through the mud, and I’ll make sure it costs you.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a threat?”

He shrugged. “A warning.”

She scoffed, turning away, but he kept going.

“I mean it,” Nathan said, voice dropping lower. “This little act of yours—playing the scorned woman, running off to Red Bull like a child—it's pathetic. You think people actually respect you? They’re laughing at you.”

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Must be humiliating,” he continued, almost conversationally. “Knowing you were just something to pass the time. A placeholder.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

Then he said it.

“Fucking whore.”

The door slammed open so hard it bounced off the wall.

Nathan barely had time to react before he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the wall with a dull thud. A forearm pressed hard against his throat, holding him in place.

Max.

His entire body was tense, his usually sharp, arrogant expression now twisted into something far more dangerous.

Nathan made a strangled noise, trying to push him off. “What the—”

“Say that again,” Max said, voice low, lethal.

Nathan swallowed, his eyes flicking to her.

Max pressed harder. “Go on. I fucking dare you.”

Silence.

Nathan was many things—arrogant, selfish, manipulative—but he wasn’t stupid.

Max held him there for a moment longer, just to make a point, then finally let go, stepping back like Nathan wasn’t even worth the energy.

Nathan straightened his shirt, swallowing whatever insult he’d been about to throw. His eyes flicked between them, then he scoffed. “You two deserve each other.”

Then he turned and walked out.

The second the door shut, the room was quiet again.

Max exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the tension. “Fucking hell.”

She blinked at him, still processing what just happened. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He turned to her, dark eyes unreadable. “Yeah, I did.”

And then, just like that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, pulse racing, wondering what the hell just happened.

part two...

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

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danlous · 10 months ago

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2.07 made it more clear than ever that everyone in the story (except perhaps Madeleine) views Claudia as a symbol for something rather than really seeing her. The scene where Louis is dragging Claudia on the floor like a doll begging Lestat to look at their 'beautiful little daughter' is both heartbreaking and deeply unsettling. This young girl who Louis doesn't even know is given the impossible weight of being everything to Louis; his light and redemption, replacement for his sister, fulfilling his longing to have children and to take care of something, his friend and confidante, fixing his relationship with Lestat, proving that living as a vampire could be worth it, giving him happiness and purpose. She called Louis an angel and saw something good and beautiful in him when Louis himself felt there was none, so Louis desperately hopes that he can be her savior and she can be his.

For Lestat she's something that keeps Louis tied to him, and to the world and vampirism and existence itself. He spitefully tells Claudia to come home and make Louis happy - because it's her purpose. Lestat sees himself in Claudia and detests it, but as he says he also sees his best vampiric self in her and is proud of it. Louis and Lestat both love Claudia deeply but i think they also see her as a living physical symbol of their eternal connection to each other, their union and its breakdown, and all their shame and guilt. In the modern day Louis' house in Dubai is like a mausoleum built for the memory of Claudia - and himself.

In Paris she's forced to assume the role of a little girl over and over again, the audience loving her but only the image of her that doesn't really exist. To the coven she ends up meaning everything they despise and on her last day she's completely dehumanized. In the book Armand says "I never loved her. I didn't know how", and i think that's reflected in the show too. I don't think Armand felt much toward Claudia other than resentment and something almost like fear, and that's what allows him to kill her with such coldness. Claudia is a living obstacle to his relationship with Louis, and like Lestat i think he's uncomfortable with seeing himself and his trauma and pain in Claudia.

But i think above all Armand too sees her as the embodiment of the connection and love between Louis and Lestat. I think Armand views Claudia first and foremost as Lestat's child and an extension of him, particularly obvious from the scene where he calls her Claudia de Lioncourt, and he's reminded of Lestat every time he looks at her. It doesn't matter if Claudia was going to leave with Madeleine, even if she and Louis never met again. As long as Claudia exists Louis will never be fully his, because he's connected to Lestat through her and thus belongs to Lestat. Claudia must be destroyed so that connection can be severed

#i've seen many people wondering why armand wants to kill claudia in the show when she doesn't pose a threat to his relationship with louis #but i really think that for armand it's that simple that he thinks her mere existence is a threat #because she's a symbol for something he hates and fears #iwtv #iwtv spoilers #iwtvposting

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jaegeraether · 3 months ago

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Unknown Territory (Alexia and Ridley)

Sunsets and Footballers - ONE-SHOTS

(*5k*)

Masterlist (other parts here)

RIDLEY POV

Ridley was in unknown territory. Never before had she needed to communicate her personal decisions, especially knowing that Alexia wouldn’t exactly be happy with what had happened.

She wasn’t meant to have been on the front line, directly in the line of fire. Unfortunately though, it had happened. She knew Alexia had been stressed lately with the two of them being apart for over a month, along with her being hard on herself for missing a penalty in the Olympics and subsequently pushing herself five times harder following it. Ridley had wished she could have come home for it, but she’d been far too deep into an operation. Only at this moment did she finally have a spare second to worry about something other than trying to keep her and her team alive.

Not wanting to give her anymore stress, and almost completely out of her area of expertise, she called the one person she knew would understand and give the best advice.

“Riddles!” YFN answered enthusiastically, even though she was most likely doing ten different things at once.

“Hey baby Blue.” Ridley murmured.

She heard whatever she was shuffling around pause. “Something’s wrong. What is it, Riddles?”

There she went – already knowing her far too well.

Ridley opened up about as much as she was willing to regarding her current state of mind. Knowing that the last thing she needed was to be teased, she immediately went into the part of the conversation that Ridley needed.

“Oh, Riddles. You’re okay physically?”

Ridley looked at the scrape across her arm from her wrist down and around to the outside of her elbow.

“For the most part.”

There was a pause, followed by some rustling and then her camera came on. She’d clearly moved into her office and was sporting a cute pout with her dimples on full display.

“Show me.”

Ridley rolled her eyes and turned on her camera. She let her assess her facial expression and then briefly showed her arm, assuring it was just a scrape.

“Still have all of your limbs and phalanges then?”

Ridley wiggled her fingers. “Still a platinum bisexual.”

“Riddles, you need to talk to her. I know she’s been really stressed at the moment, and missing you like crazy. Much more than she’d ever care to admit.”

“You’ve been talking to her?”

“Of course! She’s my friend.”

Ridley knew that of course, but not the extent of it. Alexia had always been a private person.

“We’ve been talking a lot at the minute,” she admitted. “I think a lot of it is because she feels closer to you when talking to me.”

She knew it was a slight hint. She didn’t even defend herself because she knew that Blue was aware of what happened when the operation was that deep into it. Instead, she brought up another concern of hers.

“I can’t leave right now. I can’t spare even the time to fly there and see her for five minutes, or I would.”

“Where are you right now?”

“Saudi.”

She grimaced. “That’s difficult. I know she needs you though, Riddles. You know you two can talk through anything, even you having to put your life on the line again. It’s completely justifiable with Wombat being hurt..”

“I can’t leave, and I don’t want her coming to Saudi in this political state. I feel like she will be more upset if I facetime her. You’ve been speaking to her lately…”

“Oh Riddles, never did I ever think you’d be calling me with relationship issues.” She chuckled softly. “I have no doubt she’ll travel to you though. She has a few days free. Where’s the farthest you can get away?”

Barely anything. “Dubai.”

Blue nodded. “How about you get a hotel in Dubai and she can meet you there?”

“I can do that.”

“You can find the time?”

“I’ll make the time.”

After her call with Blue, she felt slightly better. Her next call was to Alexia. She video called her and felt herself almost ache at the sight of a frustrated Alexia answering far too quickly.

God, that woman. She was beautiful, even as she was so obviously trying to keep her emotions in check.

They didn’t speak for a few seconds, just taking each other in. Ridley assessing Alexia’s emotions and Alexia assessing her for injuries.

“Hola,” Alexia eventually said, softly.

“Hi, love.” Ridley responded in Catalan.

The sound of her voice made Alexia smile the slightest.

“Lex, there was an incident-”

“Is everyone okay?” Those eyes betrayed just how worried she was about Ridley being off on operation.

“Everyone is alive. Wombat… he was injured. Pinned down. I had to intercede.”

Realisation. “You went into combat?”

“I had to.” She murmured. “Or we would have lost him.”

A pause before her face softened a little. “He’s okay now?”

Ridley sucked in a breath. “He’s still in critical care. They got him pretty good. I managed to extract him.”

Alexia nodded, her brain working overtime.

“Lex, this is why I need to be here. If I wasn’t there-”

“I know.” She whispered, her voice getting husky. “I know.”

“I can work second line. I get it. I have you now, I have something to come home to. But there will be operations that I need to come to.”

Alexia cleared her throat. “I knew what I was getting into.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for your Olympics.” She said guiltily, for what seemed like the fifth time.

Alexia was not the type of person who wanted sympathy. So instead of making her feel guilty, she simply gave a small, encouraging smile. “I’m sorry I’m not there to comfort you while your brother is in hospital.”

Her heart softened. Alexia. “But could you be..?”

“I… where are you?”

“I’m in Saudi, but I can get to Dubai. Blue said you have a few days off. I don’t want to make you travel unnecessarily, though.”

Emotions flickered across her face and she tried to cover it. “I can come.”

“I’ll find a flight and send details.”

“How long can I stay?”

“However long you can be away from Barca.”

“Lee-”

“I’ll find the time, Lex. Just… come.”

“Okay.”

ALEXIA POV

The private jet Ridley had organised landed in Dubai in the afternoon when the sun had just started to set. As soon as the engines were turned off and the door was opened, customs agents came on board to check passports and visas. She had hitched a ride with a well-off family, most of who couldn’t speak a word of English or Spanish besides the father who had been lovely and offered her everything he had.

She knew by his hospitality that he knew Ridley and they had some form of a professional relationship there. There was a lot of respect.

The first customs agent to approach Alexia also couldn’t speak English, nor Spanish. It was surprising to her at first as English was so widely spoken in Dubai, though this was a smaller, private airport.

Seeing that the owner of the jet was busy with the other agent, she was slightly flustered as Ridley had organised her paperwork. She showed her passport and when the agent gestured for more, her heart sunk.

She was finally in Dubai, where Ridley was, and she had to leave again.

Fuck.

Before it became a problem, a voice sounded from the front of the aircraft. She didn’t understand the language, but she did know the voice. Alexia peered past the agent to see Ridley in an all-black suit looking so attractive her breath caught. She handed the agent some paperwork and barely looking at it, he nodded and gave Alexia a smile before leaving.

Ridley said her hellos to the man and his family before getting to her.

She filled her presence with immediate warmth and calm and that nostalgic smell of her perfume washed over her. Woody, spicy, with a sweet hint of musk. She looked up at the slightly taller woman, into those dark eyes with playful gold flecks dancing.

She wanted to touch her, kiss her, anything. But this was Dubai. And in Dubai, homosexuality was illegal. She’d need to take Ridley’s lead.

Surprisingly, the Australian leant into her in a way much more than two female friends. The side of her forehead touched Alexia’s, her body leaning into her own. God, she missed her.

She felt Ridley’s body relax against hers.

“Alexia,” she murmured quietly, as if all of her problems had faded away with her arrival. “You came.”

Alexia pressed into her, nodding. Of course she did.

Ridley pressed an impassioned kiss to her forehead before pulling away and pausing to look at her necklace. “No happy sun?” She asked in Catalan.

The stars.

She had turned it around, like she usually did when she was without her.

When she didn’t respond, Ridley reach out and touched it gently before grabbing her bag. “Is this all you had?”

“I have a small suitcase..”

“Already in the car, Lex.”

She secretly loved how organised she was. Always taking the pressure off of her. Ridley was her escape from all of that.

“Then yes.”

“Good. Come.”

They drove in silence though it was anything but uncomfortable. Alexia held Ridley’s thigh as she drove, the Australian gently stroking her hand as she did so. It felt… right.

As Ridley turned the steering wheel, she caught a glimpse of a bandage well-hidden and felt her worry rise. To distract herself, she looked at Ridley as she drove; her sharp, dark features illuminated under the city lights, and reminded herself that she was in fact, very real.

Fuck, I missed you, she thought.

Ridley took interest in a police car flying past and smirked.

Alexia’s heart melted. I missed you.

Eyes back in front of her, Ridley continued to stroke those gentle patterns into the back of her hand, sending shivers throughout her body.

Wait, why am I so stubbornly keeping this to myself? She thought. She’s my partner.

“I missed you.” Alexia said quietly and watched Ridley’s jaw flex and her eyes flutter closed for just a second.

“I could say the same but it would be the understatement of the year.”

Fuck.

Alexia moved her hand up her muscled thigh further, gliding over the fabric of her pants until her pinky was resting against her core. Ridley shifted her hips to press into her ever so slightly and the part Alexia loved most, was that it seemed like an unconscious thing.

“Keep going, Lex, and I’ll pull this car over and fuck you right here.” She turned to look at her, those gold flecks now still and serious. “Until your body fucking gives out.”

Alexia shivered with lust, but she didn’t move. She kept her hand there, pressed up against her, the car now feeling so tense with need.

They arrived at the hotel and pulled up at the front door valet. Ridley removed Alexia’s hand from her thigh and kissed it before she opened the door. It was her way of apologising, but her eyes said she wanted to tear the clothes from her body.

Ridley took her bag and Alexia followed her lead inside and to the elevators. They were granted their privacy and Alexia was pleasantly surprised at that, given they were two women sharing accommodation. As the elevator doors closed, Ridley pressed herself up against the wall opposite Alexia and tilted her head, looking her up and down. She saw her hands flexing as if to try and keep them to herself and the Spaniard smiled to herself, turning away to try and stop herself moving towards her.

Fuck, she missed this.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“You existing doesn’t make this easy.” Ridley quipped back, her gaze not moving.

Alexia watched the levels move past far too slowly for her liking and rolled her neck, closing her eyes, in an attempt to get through. Just a few more levels.

Eventually the elevator stopped and just when she thought she wasn’t going to move, Ridley swept deliberately into her space, and out the doors, brushing her arm as she went by.

Fuck.

She followed her to their accommodation and stepped through the door Ridley was holding open for her, gesturing her in while she stayed at the door.

“Go. Explore.”

It was just as spectacular as she’d imagined it to be, and more. Very Ridley-style. Sleek, modern, minimalistic with a refined culture about it. The view over to the Burj Khalifa was spectacular, and visible from not only their bed, but the shower and bath too. She ran her hand over the marble of the bathroom counter, smiling at Ridley’s things all set out how she liked. Curious, she opened the drawer at the bottom to reveal what she knew she’d find, and yet was still surprised by. Toys.

That was Ridley, always prepared. Biting her lip, she closed it.

“Thank you.” She heard Ridley say at the door.

Ah – her suitcase.

Moving back into the bedroom, she tried to ignore how tantalising the bed looked after her flight, and instead opened the wardrobe to find the few things Ridley had brought with her all neatly arranged on her side, and Alexia’s side free besides a black garment bag and a pair of heels. Zipping it down slightly, she found a stunning black satin dress in her own size. For her?

Hearing Ridley walk in and lay the suitcase on the table, she turned with a question in her eyes.

“I have a dinner reservation for us. We can go now, later or not at all. I didn’t know what you’d prefer.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Alexia replied, gesturing to her clothes. “I love your suit.”

Ridley smiled, always proud of her sense of fashion. Something they shared. “Thank-”

“Take it off.”

Ridley’s lips parted, caught off guard. Alexia loved doing that. She took one step forwards and sat on the end of the bed.

“Now.”

She smartly closed her mouth and began undressing, starting with her rings and cufflinks while Alexia watched every single piece of clothing being removed and laid out carefully on the back of the chair. She was turned around, so Alexia could only see her from behind, but that was more than enough.

She admired those back muscles of hers, her naked ass and thighs, the cropped shaggy hair at the back of her neck, and sneakily, she wanted to see how injured she was.

There were a few scrapes and bruises here and there, though as she turned around to face her, there were less on her front which was good. Her arm, though. The bandage spread from her wrist up and around to the inside of her elbow. Alexia studied it, and then the rest of her naked body with a patience she didn’t have in the elevator.

She loved the way her hair hung around her sharp jaw, the way the arteries in her neck were visible whenever she turned her head, her well-earned biceps, veiny hands, strong abs extending down into a sharp V that cut away at her hips. Thigh muscles that showed even when standing still, right down to her bare feet standing gently on the soft carpet, and back up.

Perfectly neat, manicured and clean. Perfectly… Ridley.

Mine. The voice in her head claimed fiercely.

Her eyes found the bandage again. Before she could speak, Ridley stepped forwards and knelt in front of her, her hand on Alexia’s thighs.

“Just a scratch, Lex. It’s nothing big, I promise.”

Alexia ran her hand down the bandage, feeling that there were only a few stitches along the line. “Would you have told me if I weren’t coming to Dubai?”

Only honestly reflected in those eyes. “Yes.”

Her hands moved across Ridley’s strong, naked shoulders and up into her shaggy, dark hair where they found purchase. She gripped on, pulling her head back.

“Care to explain to me why there are sex toys in the bathroom?”

Ridley chuckled, enjoying her hair being tugged on. “I wanted to be prepared. I didn’t know what you’d want from me…”

It was an honest statement. Ridley admitting she wasn’t too great at relationships. Alexia’s hands eased a bit as she softened for her.

“You want to abuse me about my arm? Go ahead. You want to tell me how awful I am for missing out on your Olympics campaign? I’ll take it. You just want to sit apart in a room in silence for 2 days? Sure. I don’t care. As long as I’m in the same fucking room as you.”

“Lee..” she whispered, every ounce of la Reina disappearing from her.

“You missed me, Lex? I fucking mourn you every day we’re apart. Just ask the team. I’m a fucking grump.”

God, if she wasn’t practically dripping already, that would certainly do it. She leant forwards and pressed her forehead against Ridley’s.

“So what do you want from me..?” She asked softly.

Unable to stop herself any longer, Alexia’s mouth found Ridley’s desperately. Passionately. And more than willing under her own. As their lips parted and their tongues brushed, Ridley groaned, her arms sliding up Alexia’s thighs, around to her lower back and under her pants to her ass.

“Being prepared is always good.” Alexia admitted breathily against her mouth.

“Answer the question before I go mad,” she responded in a desperate tone that Alexia loved.

Her hand closed around her throat to stop her mouth on hers for a second, but Ridley was strong and liked the feeling, pushing against it so she could find her neck.

God, her mouth on her neck.

Fuck.

“What do I want from you?” She gasped as Ridley pushed harder against her hand, her mouth finding that sensitive spot just below her ear. “Everything. Always. I want you.. fuck.. inside me. I want to be inside you. I want you over me. Under me. I want everything. I want all of you. Always.”

Alexia had to grip Ridley’s throat with both hands just to push her back and fuck, was it a sight. Her eyes were dark, hooded and lustful. When Alexia squeezed, they rolled back slightly.

She loved that.

Her thumb stroked across the scar on her cheek, her lips finding the one closer to her hairline.

“All of you.”

Ridley moaned.

“Fuck me, Ridley.”

She let go on her throat suddenly, the blood rushing back into her cheeks as Ridley pulled the pants off from under her. She slid them down her legs, along with the shoes and socks, working her way back up the insides of her thighs with her mouth and fingers until she was at Alexia’s obvious arousal.

Gently lowering herself and lifting her legs over her shoulders, Ridley’s mouth found her core and tasted the excitement that had built up over the past hour.

She groaned into her, as if starved from it for too long and slid her tongue inside to taste what she could. Alexia gripped into her hair for dear life.

Fuck.

Ridley groaned again, her tongue moving up through her to her clit where she worked her exactly how she liked. Not too fast, not too slow, flat tongue dragging across her clit from bottom to top like a fucking icecream.

Alexia wanted to scream. To cry out. She whimpered, her body tensing as she tried to keep it together.

Fuck she’d missed this.

She’d missed her.

Not just the sex, her fucking partner.

Ridley adjusted a little and then Alexia felt her hand sliding up the inside of her thigh, her fingers stroking through her wet mess just under her mouth to her entrance. As her mouth kept harassing her clit, she slid just the very tip of her fingers in and out, working her up.

How had she gone so long without her?

Home.

She was her fucking home.

Ridley slid her fingers in slowly, as if enjoying feeling her around them, her fingers curling around into that perfect g-spot where the large group of nerves under her clit sat. Her curled fingers pressed down hard, circling there.

And just like that, there was no hope for her. Her clit being stimulated from both directions, Ridley’s groaning, her sure tongue, strong shoulders where her legs were hung over, the pads of her fingers expertly fucking her just right.

She felt her body tightening up, being taken so fucking high so quickly. And after a month apart? After the Olympics? After missing Ridley? She needed this.

She tried to bite back her cries into whimpers as she came, but could barely manage it. Alexia was a mess.

Ridley rode her through it, her tongue being replaced by the pressure of her thumb, and her fingers still working inside her.

Somehow Ridley was moving, Alexia felt shifted backwards as she clenched, her back touching the bed and Ridley’s body above her, fingers holding pressure now.

When she could finally breathe, she did just so, though she had barely sucked in air when Ridley’s fingers started pumping in and out of her.

Oh, fuck.

She clawed at her back, trying to do anything to stop herself from coming too quickly when that’s all her body wanted. She’d never felt so comfortable in her body as when she was with Ridley. There was never any judgement for anything she wanted or felt. She encouraged it all out of her, like she never believed was possible.

“You’re my life.” Ridley grunted against her neck, her bicep flexing as she fucked her.

Alexia arched her back and held on.

She curled her fingers hard, fucking her until Alexia was frustrated at her clothing. She needed to be closer. Skin on skin. She dragged her shirt and bra up over her head, Ridley grunting, unimpressed at being interrupted from her sucking of her throat.

Better.

“Spread.”

She did as she was told, spreading her legs apart and rocking into the strong, steady thrusts of her Australian.

Fuck.

“Use your words, Lex. Be a good girl.” She encouraged as she fucked deeper, harder. “I want to hear it all.”

Up until then, she’d been trying too hard to keep it all inside. Ridley was right.

“Fuck…” she whimpered. “Fuck.. fuck. Argh.”

I love you.

“All of it,” Ridley growled, biting her neck.

“I.. I love you. I… fuck. I m..iss you. I love you. Fuck me.”

“That’s it, my girl. I want to hear every thought in your head.”

“I’m y…yours. Please don’t stop.” She cried, letting herself fall into a state of submission that only Ridley could draw out of her.

“Not if the fucking building collapsed.”

“You’re my home. I love you. I love you, Ridley.”

She felt the shiver run down Ridley’s back under her hands. Ridley’s mouth found her ear, and if she wasn’t wet enough from her fucking, the sweet sounds of squeezing, fucking wetness, then Ridley’s gasps in her ear would have done it.

“I’m yours, Alexia. All of me. Always. I love you.”

Ridley wasn’t the type to say something for the sake of it, or because it was what she wanted to hear. She only said it when she felt it so deeply that she couldn’t last a second more without letting it out.

And at that knowledge, Alexia came hard around her fingers.

“Jesus,” Ridley complimented as her fingers were sucked into her and clenched around. “Fuuuck Lex.”

A twitching, sweaty, wet mess was exactly what Alexia was. But she hadn’t felt so relaxed and at ease in a long time. She closed her eyes and felt her body release that tension it had been holding onto for a month, the anxiety and pressure it had clung onto since she’d missed her penalty at the Olympics.

It was just her, and Ridley.

No amount of sex or masturbation could give her that. It was just… them. Her. The person she fell asleep dreaming about every night. The one she often fell into a daydream about. The person who could sense her emotions better than she could.

She breathed out her tension audibly, noticing that Ridley was no longer inside her, but her body was still warm against her own, softly stroking her skin and giving her the time she needed.

She remembered back to Blau’s official launching of Lumos, and to the party that had followed. Somewhere along the way, Alexia had lost Ridley as she’d been dragged away by people wanting to talk to “La Reina.”

She’d lost everyone she knew at that point and had felt her anxiety creeping up around so many unknown people. When it threatened to take over, she’d looked up and caught Ridley’s eyes.

Somehow, she’d known before Alexia even had, and was already making her way through the crowd to her.

She’d come up close, her arm weaving around her waist, Alexia's over her shoulder and holding each other close. Just like that, her anxiety had disappeared just as fast as it had arrived.

She felt fingertips gently stroking her cheek, around her ear, down to her jaw and along it.

“Daydreaming about me, are we?”

Without opening her eyes, Alexia smiled. “Cocky.”

“Mmn, I’ll take that as a yes. You need to teach your facial expressions how to use their inside voice.”

Alexia chuckled and turned to kiss the palm of her hand now stroking through her blonde hair. She opened her eyes to see Ridley calmly studying her. “It’s only because you know me so annoyingly well.”

“Mmnhmn.” She watched her for a little longer, her fingers stroking through her hair so gently that Alexia could have fallen asleep happy right then and there. “What would you like now, Lex?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Those gold flecks danced. “Try me.”

Alexia shifted, pushed Ridley onto her back and hovering low over her. So low her tits were brushing against Ridley’s own, her blonde hair curtaining around her face. Her leg came up Ridley’s and pressed her thigh against her own obvious arousal. The feeling of her wet against her thigh almost had her changing her mind. Ridley grabbed her ass, one of her favourite things along with her thighs, and squeezed, her eyes rolling back slightly as Alexia worked her mouth up her neck slowly, ending on her lips which she brushed over with a gentleness.

“I want to get you so frustrated that later tonight, you��ll be begging for la Reina.”

Ridley groaned in protest as Alexia stood suddenly, leaving her naked and needy on the bed.

“Now come fuck me in the shower and take me to dinner.”

RIDLEY POV

Ridley had thought she’d been prepared for everything. An angry Alexia, pissed off at her for the Olympics. A worried one, seeing her bandage. A heartbroken one, wanting to rethink them as the distance was hurting her.

Not once did she imagine Alexia to be so… fucking perfect. Frustratingly so. So needy and excited and loving and understanding of everything in its entirely.

After their rather exasperating shower in which Ridley was even more worked up by her, they got dressed. Ridley, into her tailored black suit and Alexia, into the dress she had made for her specially. She had no idea if she’d be getting Alexia or la Reina, whether she’d be feeling feminine or more androgynous, but she had taken a guess. And fuck, was she right.

Alexia walked in front of her at the restaurant, her independent side coming out more now that she’d had some stress relief and clothes to help her feel beautiful. Which was the understatement of the century.

The black dress, made to suit Ridley’s suit fit her perfectly, hugging her hips and ass. God, was she obsessed with that. The control it took to not reach out and lay her hand on it, making sure everyone knew that she was hers.

Her hair fell wavy down around her shoulders, and she was even Ridley’s height with the heels on.

She wore a few accessories that she’d chosen herself. Rings, a bracelet, earring and the sunshine necklace, though now it was turned around to show the happy sun.

They sat down to eat, trying their best to not touch each other in public. Ridley eventually gave up and leant her leg against her own under the table which sufficed her for the time being. After their starters and a few glasses of wine, they ordered their mains and while they were waiting, Alexia ducked off to the bathroom. Ridley watched her go, curious if she was being sneaky and trying to give them her credit card to pay before she could.

But she didn’t. She headed straight to the bathroom, and straight back.

As she arrived back, she sat just as the mains arrived. They would do their typical thing of sharing half a meal each, as delicious as they both looked.

Alexia smiled and thanked the server as he left. Watching him go, she turned back to Ridley.

“Shall we eat?”

Alexia gave her a look. “As long as you’re not too full to eat tonight.”

Christ.

“I will never be too full for that. And I will never be fully fucking satiated by tasting you either.” She murmured low enough that others couldn’t hear.

“Good.” She smiled and then reached her hand across the table. “You dropped this.”

Please don’t be my fucking credit card the sneaky-

As soon as she took hold of it, she froze, jaw locking and eyes closing while she tried to control herself.

Alexia crossed her legs and began to eat her meal while Ridley slipped her underwear into her pocket.

#woso #womens football #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso soccer #woso x reader #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #barca #alexia putellas #sunsetsandfootballers

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fascinationstreetmp3 · 8 months ago

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i personally think something needed to understand louis, to understand his relationship with armand and his state of mind in dubai, is that he's severely depressed. and it's not just being suicidal that he struggles with because of it, it's being apathetic and numb and lethargic at one extreme; it's being reckless and angry and emotional at the other. he can spend years letting the world pass him by or years numbing himself with drugs and we've been shown both.

we've already seen armand facilitating the latter behaviour, however much he resented it— he stepped back and watched louis go on benders where he got high and fucked and killed men in the apartments they owned together, apologising for it before he doing it all over again. it was incredibly unhealthy and damaging behaviour louis was engaging in, but it kept his mind off of claudia and lestat and paris, it gave him time away from armand, it made him feel something. and even if they argued about it, armand probably never intervened the way he did until that night in 1973. we don't know how things were between them after that (from 1973 to 2022) yet.

their dynamic in dubai is partly borne of armand enabling the other extreme. louis is flat and doesn't engage with the outside world much at all, doesn't leave the house, and armand encourages this behaviour with the environment in the penthouse. he sands down rough edges, brings nature and food inside to louis, shutters the windows. he keeps anything that might disrupt this "calm" (numb) state away from him, anything that might hurt or distress him or provoke strong emotions, because in armand's mind the alternative is so much more destructive. & louis doesn't know he actually did try to kill himself in 1973, but he knows he's been suicidal multiple times before. and now he feels apathetic and empty all the time. he doesn't push back against it. he lets it happen and grows emptier every day in his safe melancholy.

and like... obviously this is not a good thing. this isn't a defense of armand's behaviour or pinning the blame on louis. armand says he "cares for louis more than he cares for himself" and "preserves louis' happiness". i think he's doing what he thinks is best for louis in dubai, but the end goal is really more what is best for himself. "happy" louis = "happy" armand, because armand is not alone. and the more detached and distracted louis is, the less he considers the past, the less he focuses on armand's role in all of it. so armand takes whatever placates louis at the time and pushes it to its extreme. and louis gets to remain numb, to not think about or reflect on memories or anything that upsets him... until his state of mind shifts in 2022, and he decides he wants to break out of this state, and he contacts daniel for a second interview.

#this got long im not expecting anyone to read all that but this is just what i think #iwtv #louis de pointe du lac #armand

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its-time-to-write · 1 year ago

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please don’t be - ch. 1

for context! this takes place after season 3, and in my head Jamie plays one season with Richmond under Roy, then goes back to City to play for Pep bc let’s be real, he’s a Manchester boy at heart. so that’s what’s happening, that’s the timeline, this is def the most non-canonical thing I’ve written. it might be out of character. it might be self-indulgent. I don’t know, I would say I don’t care, except I do. enjoy.

table of contents be good to me

It’s Julia who reminds you, he’s the one who asked for your number. Because she has to remind you. Otherwise you’ll tear yourself to pieces thinking about how it’s all your fault.

Oh, it was easy in the beginning. You meet Jamie Tartt of all people in a chicken shop of all places. Things like that don’t just happen. Except it did, and he smiled at you first, and you had a stupid, stupid thought that became a stupid, stupid reality.

And Julia was there from the beginning, what with her raised eyebrows and frosty opinions.

“Be so careful,” she warns. “He doesn’t understand that he doesn’t deserve you.”

You laugh and squeeze her arm as you slip out the door and into Jamie’s car.

Because it’s fun and silly and he has exactly the right words all the time. Words about your eyes, your voice, your humor; words you know not to take seriously, but he says them with such sincerity that you allow yourself to believe them for a second.

He says strange things too, things about meeting his mum and holidays in the far future where you’re on a beach with him or maybe in the stands or in a room that costs more than you make in a month.

He says the word marriage on the third date and it’s not even in reference to the both of you, just to him. He wants it, someday, sooner than people think. You study the wall behind him and sip your water. It’s ice-cold, with just the right amount of lemon. You keep your thoughts on the matter to yourself. No sense in filling the air with meaningless words. Marriage is a conversation for another girl. Not you.

No, you do your best to take it for what it is, although you’re slipping.

It’s a fling, albeit long-term. You have incompatible schedules, never mind the way you bend your time to the breaking point just to see him for ten minutes. You have a career, bills to pay, people to fix; he has football, a team, and history to make.

It’s a whirlwind of parties, matches, flights to Dubai, photographers, dresses, jewels. You know it’s a dream. You do.

Still, it’s hard to think of it as such when he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and tells you, “My mum really liked meeting you the other day.”

It doesn’t matter how many times he tells you you’re just going out, he’s not your boyfriend (as if you aren’t painfully aware). He’s acting as if it’s more.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Julia says when you come home, confused and conflicted. “I don’t fault you for staying, but don’t forget you can leave whenever you’re ready.”

But you’re not ready.

You’ll bend over backwards, put everything on the shelf if it means loving Jamie for half a minute. He’d never ask, no one ever does, because they always assume they know how you’ll respond.

But they don’t.

There’s a horrifying moment when you’re at some posh coffee shop, and you’re standing up to grab extra sweetener from the counter. Jamie grabs your wrist so gently to ask for a cup of water, but all you can see is the sweet expression on his face and an eyelash resting on his cheek. He’s smiling up at you and you brush away the eyelash with your free thumb, palm cupping his face. The air changes for a split second and you know.

You’re not making it out of this unscathed.

One of you will leave. It’s inevitable. It will not be you.

It’s inevitable.

So you hold his face for a beat too long before heading inside to compose yourself. You pretend not to notice the family with their cameras out. It’s a common occurrence, as common as footballers being seen with a girl who comes from another life and means nothing in the grand scheme of the Premier League.

There are so many times you want to scream that there are bigger things than the Premier League.

“I can fix him,” you tell Julia. “I get it. I understand his whole brain, how it works, what he thinks. I understand all of it. I can fix it.”

Julia sighs. “You’re not his therapist. It’s not your job, love.”

Still.

You do what you do best: love.

It shows itself in the way you smooth out the knots in his forehead, his chest, his back. The way you smile that special, soft, just-for-Jamie smile. The way you listen extra carefully and joke and laugh when things are especially difficult.

“I won’t change for you,” he says one day, early on, when you explain the panic you feel when he doesn’t speak to you for a week.

“I’m not asking you to,” you say, voice steady despite the fact that your hands shake so hard you almost drop your tea. “I’m just explaining to you why I’m a bit strange today.”

Except he does change. His words- they don’t match his actions.

I won’t change for you.

Except you hear from him every day.

I won’t change for you.

Except he makes time to see you.

I won’t change for you.

Except he’s inviting himself for tea with your family.

I won’t change for you.

You never asked him to.

So why is it your fault?

“You knew I was moving back to Manchester at the end of the season,” he says accusingly, because you did know. You’re not asking him to stay, even now.

You nod silently, letting as few tears streak down your face as possible.

“What did you think was going to happen?” he asks.

Nothing. You didn’t think anything was going to happen.

You reply, “I didn’t expect anything to happen. I never pressured you. I never- I didn’t ask for any of this. Am I not allowed to be sad?”

There’s no point in telling him you’d move with him if he asked. Seven months together… it’s a long time. But it’s not forever, and it’s not long enough, apparently.

Julia’s in the flat that night. She always seems to know which nights to be home and not out with her sickeningly perfect boyfriend.

She doesn’t say anything, just hands you the box of takeout as you whisper, “I’m so tired of begging to be loved.”

It’s a cheap shot, you know that, but still. There’s plenty of love in your life. But the begging…

It’s silent, never leaving your lips. But it’s always screaming inside your head.

Love me, love me, love me. I am making myself lovable for you. Love me.

He knows not to text, not to call. You hear he’s in town and are relieved that you don’t hear from him. At least he knows enough to leave you alone.

You’ll love someone for eternity, until they decide they don’t want it anymore. Once they decide, they’re not allowed back. They can’t come back. It wouldn’t be healthy.

And fuck if you weren’t going to be healthy.

table of contents

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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thetarttfuldickhead · 11 months ago

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A week or two after the Dubai Air protest Sam happens upon Jamie lounging listlessly on a bench in the otherwise deserted gym. He’s not doing any exercise, just sitting there and staring out into nothingness with a curiously vacant look on his face.

Sam hesitates, hovering in the doorway. He’s come for a little bit of extra weights before heading home, and he hadn’t expected anyone to be here this late, least of all Jamie. It’s been a long day and Sam’s not sure if he’s up for dealing with the (possibly) reformed bully right now. Even if they are edging towards friendly, and even if that’s no small thing given what’s come between them before, there’s still an undercurrent of charged uncertainty to their interactions, a stilted hesitancy to their cautious politeness and careful attempts at casual camaraderie.

Jamie hasn’t explicitly told Sam that he’s sorry for the things he’s put him through. Sam has decided that he will not let his decision to give Jamie another chance be contingent upon this. It’s very tiring, being angry and resentful of the other’s presence: so much easier to accept the taped up logo for the peace offering it was, and let that be Jamie’s apology.

(If it rankles, it only rankles a little.)

Reminding himself of his decision to let bygones be bygones, and that they won’t ever get anywhere if they don’t actually learn to talk, Sam steps into the gym. Asks as he would any other glum-looking team mate he’d unexpectedly happened upon, “Are you all right, Jamie?”

Holds himself ready, holds himself steady, if Jamie should bare his teeth and bite, now that there’s no one around to see it.

But Jamie only starts a little, like he hadn’t noticed Sam or he’s surprised to be voluntarily addressed. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m good, man. Great, you know. It’s just… I’m a bit tired, I guess.“ He pauses, then his face suddenly collapses and he gives Sam the most plaintive of looks. “It’s just so fucking exhausting being nice all the time. I don’t know how you do it, mate.”

Ah. Sam tactfully doesn’t say that it’s usually no effort for him and that he doesn’t really understand how it could possible come that hard for anyone.

He also doesn’t point out that not actively being mean to people isn’t quite the same as being nice.

Because Jamie is trying, isn’t he, even if it’s painfully evident that he still needs to try, that it doesn’t come quite naturally.

“Bit like when Spike had that chip in his head and had no choice but to team up with the good guys, isn’t it?” Colin had muttered a few days after their wayward striker had re-joined them, and yes, Sam had had to agree: it is a bit like that.

But there’s no chip in Jamie’s head (Sam is pretty sure). He’s here of his own free will, trying to be a good team mate and a better person because he wants to be. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Sam is pretty sure his dad would say it does. Sam wants to be the sort of person that lets it count.

And Jamie is looking genuinely dejected, in a way that has Sam feel a small surge of something that isn’t affection but isn’t too unlike it either. A little bit of pity mingling with amusement; enough that he’s moved to brave sitting down next to Jamie.

“Well, I have had more practise,” he says lightly. “I bet you will be really good at it if you give it a bit more time.”

“Yeah?” It’s offered casually, but there’s no disguising the faint hope in it. Sam can feel Jamie watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” he says, and then, feeling bold, “You are Jamie Tartt. Aren’t you good at everything?”

A pause, and Sam holds his breath, praying that Jamie will understand that he’s being teased rather than mocked—

Then Jamie snorts, a sound halfway to a chuckle. “Yeah, man,” he retorts, bumping his shoulder against Sam’s, very carefully. “I’ll be the fucking best at being nice. Swear down, I’ll be so good I make you look like Geezer Scrooge.”

“That, I’d like to see,” Sam says drily; says sincerely. Standing, he nods towards the weight bench. “Do you think you can be good enough not to let me be crushed to death while you spot me?”

For a moment, Jamie looks taken aback, and Sam braces himself for a snide retort to his presumption – but it doesn’t come. Instead Jaime’s face clears, and he gives a sharp nod.

“Course, mate,” he says, and rises to follow Sam.

#i absolutely think that jamie owes sam a proper apology #and that sam is EXTREMELY within his rights to take a whole lot longer warming up to jamie than he does #but sam really is the sweetest person #--to the point where he might sometimes struggle to name his anger or set boundaries--#and sometimes in the future i expect them to have a proper talk about everything #but for now have some awkward and hesitant bonding #because that is like catnip to me #and my habit was re-awakened by that gif set i reblogged earlier #sam obisanya #jamie tartt #sam & jamie #ficlet #my stuff

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best-iwtv-scene · 7 months ago

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ROUND 1B, MATCH 8

Descriptions/Propaganda under the cut:

Dreamstat letter scene (2x02)

In an attempt to settle his paranoia over Lestat coming back for revenge, Louis visits a law firm where Lestat had his finances. To his surprise, Louis is given a letter signed by Lestat to be given to him in the event of his death. As Louis opens the letter, he hallucinates Lestat taking the paper from his hands. Dreamstat is wearing the suit he wore when going to meet the de Pointe du Lac family and he speaks the letter to Louis. The contents of the letter are hauntingly romantic, highlighting the thin line between loving devotion and possessive obsession that is inherent to the two vampires' relationship. The visit to the law firm instead increases Louis's paranoia, the letter, presumably written no longer than a few years into their relationship, sounding more threatening than affectionate due to the cause of Lestat's demise. The scene shows the fear and guilty attraction he still feels towards Lestat even years after their separation. "A veil will now forever separate our union. But it is a thin veil and I am always on the other side... face pressed up against your longing."

Propaganda:

I died. that's it, that's the propaganda

Submitted by @jameslongforjimshortforgabriel

Claudia’s turning revisited (2x07)

As Lestat recounts his perception of events on the night of Claudia's turning, it switches between the trial in Paris, the interview in Dubai and the night in New Orleans, playing quite differently from in 1x04. Lestat describes a greatly distressed Louis begging him to turn the young girl into a vampire, despite Lestat's warning about the 'Great Laws' and the pain it will cause them all. Louis, in his desperation, manipulates Lestat into turning Claudia, promising he will never leave Lestat if he does this one thing. In Paris, Louis objects to this version of events, loudly denying it as Claudia looks at him, unsure what to believe. In Dubai, Louis, with some difficulty, admits that Lestat's recollection was more accurate. The scene is disturbing, particularly due to the way Claudia is treated. The young girl, practically a stranger to Louis and Lestat, is dragged along the floor and treated like an object, or something to aid them, either in their relationship or personally. Additionally, in his guilt over admitting the truth of events, present-day Louis looks over to Dreamstat sitting across from him in the Dubai apartment, the only time such a thing happens in the show so far. "She will be at war with herself. She is of an age where her emotions will soar and plummet, mountains and valleys every day of her life!" "I don't care!" "Well, you must care! [...] And she will be miserable and you will love her!"

Propaganda:

No propaganda was submitted for this scene.

#best iwtv scene poll #iwtv #amc iwtv #interview with the vampire #loustat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #claudia iwtv #claudia #tumblr polls #poll tournament #round 1

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robertruder · 1 year ago

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sunny44 · 2 years ago

Text

Date night

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: nothing.

Summary: Y/n and Lewis have their monthly date night.

Ps: sorry for the short story

Lewis and I had been together for 4 years and I have nothing to complain about.

He is the most perfect man I’ve ever met in my entire life.

The kisses all over my face every morning when we were together, the hugs from behind that make me feel at home, the single flower that he gave me every day that I press in a book and am putting in a frame, the times that at a family lunch when he is talking to my parents he passes by me and gives me a kiss on the forehead just to show that even if we are apart at that moment he is still paying attention and taking care of me.

And that's why every month we had a special date, we picked a day when we were both together and we went out to enjoy each other's company.

This was the last weekend of the race, we were in Dubai and it would be our last date of the year. I had chosen a green dress that looked like Tinker bell's, I had found it some time ago and decided to leave it for our last meeting of the year.

The podium today was Lewis, Charles and Max and with this last victory Lewis became 8 times Formula 1 world champion so it was another reason to celebrate.

Lewis had showered first so that I could have the bathroom to myself and put on makeup without him seeing me before I was completely ready.

As soon as I finished I looked at myself in the mirror once more and came out of the bathroom seeing my boyfriend sitting in an armchair in the corner of the room playing on his cell phone but he looked away from the screen as soon as he heard the bathroom door open and then smiled and stood up.

"Wow you look gorgeous."

"Thanks, you look perfect too." He smiles and holds my waist with his hands.

"Can we go? We have a lot to celebrate."

"We can."

We went to the restaurant he had chosen and made a reservation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, it's this way." They led us to an outside area with a table just for the two of us which I thought was odd since we usually sat with the other people just in a more private corner to avoid people getting in the way.

"Are we sit alone today?" he pulled out a chair for me.

"Yes, why you didn't like it?"

"It's not that, I loved it, I just asked because you usually like to act normal and sit with everyone." He laughs.

"And I do but today I wanted to do something different since it's an important celebration."

"Absolutely, it's not every day that you become 8th time formula one world champion and breaking a record." I smiled at him who held my hand.

"Absolutely."

"Are you okay? You seem a little nervous."

"I'm fine yes just still can't believe all this happened today."

We ordered our food and had one of the best dinners ever, the night was beautiful with the star’s in the sky making everything even more perfect.

"Hey." He calls out to me and I looked up at him. "You are without a doubt the love of my life, I have never loved anyone the way I love you and I can't even imagine my life without you in it. Not many people can adapt with a hectic life like us driver’s and I thank you so much that besides you’re supporting me you are always there for me when I need you."

"Love you know I would do anything for you."

"With that said I want to ask you a question." I nodded and he reached up and took something from his pocket and knelt down in front of me. "Would you make me the happiest man in the world by marrying me?"

At this I started to cry and nodded my head in agreement.

"There is nothing I want more in the world than to be your wife." He smiled placing the ring on my finger and we both stood up and I slung my arms around his shoulders and kissed him. "Thank you for choosing me to be your wife."

"Thank you for choosing me to be your husband."

Bonus scene!

Yourusername Instagram post

Liked by @lewishamilton, @yourmom, @georgerussel and other 91727

Yourusername today the love of my life asked me to be his wife. I can’t imagine my life without you in it and I’m so grateful for you.

I can’t wait to be Mrs Hamilton.

Tagged: @lewishamilton

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alarici · 6 months ago

Text

State of decay

Rated T, 950 words

In the years since the Kira case, with Near at the helm, and L and Watari long since buried in the plot beside the west wing, what was once called The Wammy’s House decays.

It takes seven years to fully dismantle the program. The youngest children need to find foster homes or new families or other, carefully vetted, well-funded programs to matriculate into. The older children are graduated and placed in the best universities around the world—set to become the everyday successes of tomorrow. Tsinghua, Juilliard, Cairo, LSE, UCLA, Tohoku, ETH Zurich, Oxford. The residual funds are allocated appropriately to make sure that everyone is well taken care of. Study funds and stipends, merit grants and insurance.

Personally, Near sees to the edge cases. Kids who, according to the headmasters and the instructors, never lived up to the promise of their aptitude testing—the weak, the attention deficit, the headcases. He speaks to each one—Do you want to live alone? Do you want to learn a skill and work? Do you want to go back to where they found you? What are your medical needs.

It’s dispassionate work that he takes on in his limited spare time. The dismantling of the program was not necessarily his idea, but he saw it to the end.

By 2024, L Lawliet has been dead for almost two decades. Enough time for a child to grow and have a child of their own. Near has no children—will never and can never—and finds this fact amusing.

At exactly 13:23 GMT on 21 October, 2024, Near celebrates a homecoming of sorts.

—

The grounds have been left to wither. The estate is unsellable—or, nobody wants to bother selling it to a Silicon valley expat or a London financier’s portfolio. After all, it was a school. Renovations would be required.

When Near is driven into town and left there—”I’ll get there from here, thank you,”—he overhears, in a quiet cafe, that the children think the mansion on the hill is haunted. “Halloween” is an American holiday that is not celebrated in England. The evening is foggy and limpid. The sky threatens an afternoon rain.

He arrives at the wrought iron gates at 15:13. He knows there is nothing for him, here. But he’s already been given this time to pay his respects. A holiday of sorts. Never in the past twenty years has he kneeled before graves. He expects he won’t today, either. There is nobody here to pay respects to. Mello is buried in an unmarked plot in a quiet district of Tokyo. The stake on the eastern edge of the property in Winchester—In Memoriam, Mihael Keehl—is growing moss. Near stops by this landmark, first. Many colleagues and coworkers, commanding officers and cadets, have died since Mello. Near has not kept track of many of their names.

Mello’s memorial has not been cared for. They stopped sending groundskeepers to the property in 2019. Near carries a book in one hand, his plastic cane in the other. He stares at the spike, leans on the arm brace, and considers the most respectful acknowledgment of this memorial. This isn’t what he came here to do. Mihael Keehl—no, Mello—has been dead for more than a decade. In that time, Near has solved more than five hundred cases. A-Kira. The Hong Kong murders. The Dubai trafficking ring. A few stray Death Notes.

In the years elapsed, the loss has simmered. Like soup, which Near has seen others make (his current boyfriend is fond of cutting the mirepoix into centimeter by centimeter cubes) the thought of Mello is turbid and wafts around him constantly. However, there is no room for the what if. There is only the course the universe bent, that day.

Near, in his own way, has paid his respect. Said his thank yous, if he owes any thanks. He bows, as far as he can manage, to the spiritless grave. He does not kneel.

In Tokyo, Mello’s bones are likely rusting, rotting in the temperate soil. Were he buried here, at 51° latitude, he may still have his skin, in death. But this is unimportant. He would not wish to be buried here.

Near bows, and says two prayers for the dead. He knows a Latin version as well as a Hebrew. To this day, he does not know if Mello died religious—died believing in any gods beyond those he had met and been scorned by.

“Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.”

“יִתְגַּדַּל וְיִתְקַדַּשׁ שְׁמֵהּ רַבָּא.”

He adds a hymn Mello might have sung for his parents in the dialect he most likely spoke before his life as a successor began.

“Святой Юмо, Святой Куатле, Святой Колыдымо, мемнам серлаге.”

Near has been told not to pass judgment on the irrationality of faith, so he has learned the hymns. The grass grows tall around Mello’s stake.

One year, Near had gotten angry about it. Back when he was twenty one or twenty two—inconsequential—and awake for forty hours, Near had raged at a silent room over it, and never again. And the anger was not about the death, nor about Near’s inheritance, his duty. Not Mello’s mistakes nor his sacrifice. Likely, looking back with the hindsight and wisdom of a man ten years older, Near images he experienced as much grief as he was capable of, that night. There was no grave to stand over, and there was no body, in the small room in Cape Canaveral when Near was twenty one. No surviving images of him. No letters nor notebooks. The bout of rage, insanity, grief (he cautions to call it) was triggered by a smell (something sweet burning), of all things. And had subsided with the yellow dawn.

The frustration was likely at being left alone. Of his own inefficacy in his first trial, and the acknowledgement that a man like Mello had deserved to live to see more days. Had deserved better than a pine wood stake on a lonely corner of the grounds of the school where he was raised and an unmarked plot in Adachi City, Tokyo.

Next, Near walks slowly towards the house itself. A jackrabbit sprints across the lawn in front of him. A hawk circles to the north.

#death note #near death note #nate river #wip

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